Read the Manual, Yang
by Your Science Biatch
Summary: Want more Volume 4 Yang? Here ya go. Just trying on the arm. For size.


Yang sat in the living room of the Xiao-Long home, studying with curiosity the metal monstrosity that was now her arm. Taiyang had aided in putting on the high tech device the second time, and had instructed that she begin learning how to use is as soon as possible that she could return to the old routine. However, he'd left around an hour ago for the rest of the day, and she had no clue where to begin with it.

It looked similar enough to a normal arm, or as similar as a piece of metal could be to flesh and bone. It was stronger, for sure, and moving it was simple; it was like having her arm back, really. Except it wasn't real. It wasn't normal. It wasn't _human_.

Her scroll, which she'd set aside upon putting on the arm, rang, and she hurried to pick it up, seeing that it was her father.

Tai appeared on the screen, seemingly at Signal. Yang didn't ask questions as he greeted with, "Hey, kiddo. How's the arm doing?"

"I dunno, I'll be sure to ask it later." She grinned, moving it a little so that he could see the small amount of progress she'd made. "Seriously, though. It's pretty nice, actually. I would say I can't tell the difference between it and a real arm, but that would be a lie. Although I could probably get used to this one."

Her father nodded, letting himself smile a little at that. He was proud of her for having gotten up and asked for help with the arm; it was hard for him, seeing her suffer from the PTSD. It wasn't like he didn't understand. He'd been in a similar situation, had suffered from the same thing. "That's great! I'm glad you're saying all this," he stated. "Look, I'm afraid I won't be home tonight—there's some _stuff_ happening at Signal and I need to deal with it immediately. But I left something on your nightstand to help you with the arm while I'm not around. Don't know if you saw it."

"I didn't, no," Yang replied with a shake of her head, "But I'll go look at it in a bit. Just got to make myself something to eat."

He stopped and checked the time. "Yeah, it's around time for lunch. I should be getting back to this, sorry. Talk to you later. I'm proud of you, my sunny little dragon."

"Thanks, Dad. See ya later." She barely managed to finish her sentence before he hung up, and with a sigh, she set down the scroll.

There wasn't much in the fridge and the cupboards that she could take to make herself a lunch, but found enough stuff for a sandwich and began putting it all together. The arm, which had felt normal at first, was now a bizarre weight. She picked up a plate with it and accidentally shattered the plate. The floor covered in glass, she gave up on lunch and headed upstairs to see what Tai had left her.

Sitting on the nightstand next to her bed alongside a small letter, was a large book. Peering over at it, she read the cover: _Robotic Arms From Atlas: For Dummies._

Well.

The letter beside it, which was addressed to her from General Ironwood, read,

 _Dear Miss Xiao-Long,_

 _Me and several of my fellow military commanders from Atlas have heard of the bravery with which you fought during the battle of Beacon, and are greatly impressed. We would like to thank you for that, as well as apologize for your injuries; as the commander of the largest army in Remnant, it was my duty to ensure the safety of all of the citizens residing in Vale while my soldiers were there, and we unfortunately failed. Please, take the arm as a token of my thanks, and as good wishes for the future._

 _Sincerely,_

 _General James Ironwood of Atlas._

She crumpled the letter, rolling her eyes, and tossed it in the trash can beside the desk in her room; though the letter was directly written to her, it felt insincere and generic, like something sent to all soldiers wounded in combat. She didn't want that kind of sympathy from the General—in fact, she didn't want sympathy from anyone.

Sitting down on her bed, she looked at the cover of the book—a simple metal arm like her's on the cover along with the title. _Written by Misty Goldstein_. Who?

Flipping past the introduction and acknowledgements—who wrote acknowledgements for that type of book, anyways?—Yang found the table of contents, quickly scanning through it for anything of interest. _Your arm and you; Caring for your arm; Assembling and disassembling your arm; Your arm in combat; Your arm and your Semblance; Not Crushi_ _ng Everything..._

The list went on, and eventually she grew tired of reading simply that, choosing instead to flip through the pages.

 _Part 1, Chapter 1, Step 1: Getting to know your arm._

 _Part 5, Chapter 12, Step 8: Steel and Fire, maybe._

 _Part 12, Chapter 20, Step 17: You've still got a lot to learn before you can save anyone._

Eventually, she got tired of that, too, and tossed aside the book. "I'll read some of it later," she murmured to herself, lying back on the bed. No she wouldn't. Who was she kidding.

With a sigh of what easily could've been anger, Yang pushed herself back up and grabbed the book once again, turning to a random page.

 _Part 6, Chapter 3, Step 3: Things made of GLASS._

 _When one of your arms is made of metal and can easily crush the side of a truck, your biggest enemy may not be Grimm or OP villains who can somehow beat incredibly strong headmasters but get their asses handed to them by ten year olds. Sometimes, your biggest enemy will be a common foe for many people, especially clumsy ones: GLASS. Plates, especially, are dainty and subject to brraking, so simply remove—_

The book went flying out the window, sending sharp pieces of glass out of the home as well as some inside. She stopped and looked down at her hands, one flesh and bone—one _real_ —and the others, mechanical and robotic and _fake_. She sighed and shook her head. Maybe—maybe it was a mistake trying on the arm so soon. Maybe she still needed time.

Or maybe throwing in the towel would be for the best.


End file.
